At this moment I noticed a regiment, which by its yellow facings I think was the 88th or Connaught Rangers, marching in close column of companies to attack a French regiment which was drawn up in line on the verge of a hill with a small village in its rear.
The 88th, although at the time under a heavy cannonade from the enemy’s artillery, continued advancing gallantly onwards, which, we skirmishers perceiving, took ground to the left close to the road, in order to enable them to oppose this line in front.
Though hotly engaged at the time, I determined to watch their movements. The 88th next deployed into line, advancing all the time towards their opponents, who seemed to wait very coolly for them. When they had approached to within three or four hundred yards, the French poured in a volley or I should say a running fire from right to left. As soon as the British regiment had recovered the first shock, and closed their files on the gap it had made, they commenced advancing at double time until within fifty yards nearer to the enemy, when they halted and in turn gave a running fire from their whole line, and without a moment’s pause cheered and charged up the hill against them. The French meanwhile were attempting to reload. But being hard pressed by the British, who allowed them no time to give a second volley, came immediately to the right about, making the best of their way to the village.[[16]]
As I have before observed, we had several Spaniards in our regiment. These men were generally brave; but one in particular, named Blanco, was one of the most skilful and daring skirmishers we had in the battalion. His great courage, however, was sullied by a love of cruelty towards the French whom he detested, and never named but with the most ferocious expressions. In every affair we had since the advance from Portugal, he was always in the front; and the only wonder is how he managed to escape the enemy’s shot, but his singular activity and intelligence frequently saved him. His hatred to the French was, I believe, occasioned by his father and brother, who were peasants, having been murdered by a French foraging party. On this day he gave many awful proofs of this feeling by mercilessly stabbing and mangling the wounded French he came up to. In this massacre he was, however, stopped by a veteran of our regiment, who, although suffering from a severe wound in the face, was so exasperated at the Spaniard’s cruelty, that he knocked him down with a blow from the butt of his rifle. It was only by force we could prevent the Spaniard from stabbing him on the spot.
I now observed the Duke come riding up with some of his staff; and, seeing the confusion the enemy were in, cried out to one of his aides-de-camp, “Send up a few of Ross’s guns; here is work for them:” saying to us at the same time, “That’s right, my lads; keep up a good fire,” as he galloped in our rear to the right. In an instant up came Ross’s guns, and commenced peppering them at the distance of not more than three hundred yards. Here the whole seemed blocked together in a mass, while we stuck to them like leeches.
When we arrived close to the barriers of Vittoria, we found them blocked up by a great portion of the French waggons, bearing the matériel of their army. After passing the gates, we were still engaged through the town skirmishing with their rear-guard; but, notwithstanding the street-firing, many of the inhabitants threw open their windows, and, appearing at their balconies, welcomed us with vivas, while the ladies, according to the established mode threw flowers into the streets on us, as we passed along.
In following up the enemy, a few other men and myself had left the company a little in the rear. While going through the square I was fortunate enough to save the life of a French soldier who had been wounded. He was endeavouring, poor fellow! to follow in the route of the French, when observing me coming up, he dropped his musket, with which he had been assisting himself, and intimated that he surrendered; a Spanish vagabond, however, observing him, brandished a club, evidently intending to give the Frenchman the “coup de grace,” when he was knocked down. The poor Frenchman expressed his gratitude, but we were obliged to leave him, probably after all to the same fate he had just been rescued from, unless he fell into the hands of our troops who were coming up at the time.
A few minutes after this, some of the 10th Hussars and a party of the Life Guards came dashing through the town, sword in hand, shouting as if they had taken it by storm.
When I had passed the gates, and forced my way through the immense quantity of baggage that blocked up the further end of the town, and through which the cavalry could scarcely pass, I beheld a French mounted officer, sword in hand, escorting a carriage and four out of the town. My comrade and myself immediately fired, when the officer fell. At the same moment the carriage stopped. On rushing up to the vehicle we perceived it contained two ladies, evidently of high rank. They seemed much alarmed as the balls kept whisking round them from both sides. We desired them not to entertain any fears for their safety, as we would not harm them. While thus engaged an officer of the 10th Hussars came galloping up, flourishing his sword over his head. Not knowing his uniform at first, I cocked my rifle, upon which he exclaimed “I am an English officer, Sir.” Hearing this, I stepped on one side of the carriage, but in withdrawing I observed a small but exceedingly heavy portmanteau that was carried by a Spanish muleteer in the French service. He was in the act of conveying it towards the town, and as I thought I contributed more towards its capture, I made him lay it down—not, indeed, before I was compelled to give him a few whacks of my rifle in the ribs. My comrades had gone in another direction, so that I had no one to claim a portion of my booty, which on inspection I found to consist of several small bags filled with gold and silver in doubloons and dollars. Although I never knew exactly the amount, I should think it not less than £1000. I afterwards learnt that the lady in the carriage was no other than the Queen of Spain, the wife of Joseph Bonaparte.[[17]] The officer of hussars, I also heard, obtained possession of the bâton of Joseph[[18]] himself from the same carriage.
My chief anxiety now was how to secure my prize; and, when all who had an opportunity were employed in reaping some personal advantages from our victory, I determined not to be backward, but this was a difficult thing to accomplish. As I could not well carry the portmanteau from its weight, I soon found means, taking one of the many mules that were blocking up the road to bear the valuable load; but being at a loss how to fasten the portmanteau, I resorted for aid to a sergeant and two men of the 10th Hussars, who were passing. For this service I, perhaps, incautiously rewarded them too liberally, by giving them several handfuls of dollars. In doing this they got a glimpse of the gold, half of which they demanded. Perceiving the probability of being thus deprived of the only prize I had made after years of hardship and suffering—and particularly by those new-comers, as this regiment had newly joined from England, made it still worse—I inwardly resolved to forfeit it but with my life. So catching up my loaded rifle, which I had leant against a gun-carriage, I instantly cocked, and, retiring three or four paces, brought it to my shoulder, swearing I would shoot the first man dead that placed his hands upon my treasure. My determined air, and the ferocity of my appearance—my face being completely covered with perspiration and gunpowder—induced them to pause, and finally to desist. Taking the sergeant’s word not to attempt molesting me, with his assistance I completed the strapping of my treasure, and departed for the camp.[[19]]